


I Choose You

by Winchestershalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Dean Winchester, Boys In Love, Fallen Angel Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 08:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchestershalo/pseuds/Winchestershalo
Summary: "That best friend he is kneeling beside on the bed and who is passed out from pain, but is still managing to cling to a pillow. The best friend who pulled him out of Hell and saved him more times than Cas would like to count. The best friend Cas knows he doesn’t deserve. The best friend who could possibly be human, and possibly be dying."Cas finds out the length his angel will go for him.





	I Choose You

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a contest hosted by desielfanfiction on Instagram.

Cas twists the cap off a beer bottle, taking a swing of the cold beverage. It isn’t the best beer he’s ever had, but it was the cheapest he could find at the Gas N’ Sip that he could buy with the money he has from pool sharking - or had being the better term. Cas used whatever money he had left to buy a bag of Twizzlers. 

With beer and Twizzlers in hand, Cas flops on the bed and turns on the old TV in his motel room, flicking through the channels. Nothing grabs his attention, so he puts on a random channel and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. No messages, not even from Gabriel, who will keep calling and texting Cas while he’s on solo hunts, like that won’t get him killed. If Cas doesn’t answer, Gabriel will believe he’s dead and come racing to whatever town Cas is in, but he’s not who Cas is hoping to hear from. There’s also no messages from Dean.

Usually, that’s nothing to worry about. Dean isn’t the best with phones and will fly to wherever Cas is to check in, but Cas hasn’t seen Dean in a month. The longest he’s ever gone without seeing Dean is two weeks. Cas brought the Twizzlers in hopes Dean would show up. It’s one of the first things Dean tried after getting Cas out of Hell and it’s a favorite of his now. 

Cas sits up and swings his legs over the bed. He puts his beer on the nightstand and bows his head. _ Dean, I don’t do this. You know I don’t pray, but I’m worried. I’m worried about _ you _ . Where are you? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you? Please, Dean. Whatever it is - Whatever happened - It can be fixed. _ We _ can fix it. Together. _He takes in a shaky breath and downs the rest of his beer.

The next few hours go by in a blur. Cas finishes one beer after the next until the six pack is gone, giving him only a buzz. Cas had been hoping to would be enough to get him to sleep, or at least forget that his best friend probably hates him. Instead, he’s pacing the floor of the motel room and he can’t forget. What could he have done to make Dean upset enough to disappear? He’s made Dean angry before - doing stupid things - and Dean will yell at him for it. 

Maybe he should call Gabriel for help, start a search and ask around. Cas can’t just sit here and wait and _ hope _that Dean will show up. Cas knows someone has to know something. He starts to dial Gabriel’s number when the door thuds, not a knock. It sounds like something just fell against the door. 

Cas pockets his phone. He kneels on the floor to open his duffle bag. He has two of them, one is for his clothes and the other is for his assortment of weapons. He opens the one with his weapons. He takes out a gun, checking to see if it’s loaded. It is.

There’s another thud against the door and another. This time it sounds like someone is knocking. Whoever’s out there is jiggling the doorknob, which is locked. He puts the gun in the back of his jeans.

He moves across the room, placing his hand on the doorknob. The jiggling stops, but the thudding starts again and gets _ louder _. Then stops.

Cas opens the door.

It swings open and the person falls to the floor, face first. Cas can taste the bile in his mouth as he recognizes the short light brown hair and the unconscious face. He drops to his knees, his hand instinctively brushing over freckled skin.

_ Dean _. It’s Dean. 

Cas has seen his fair share of injuries and had them too. He’s seen bodies mutilated, burned, and skeletons as well, but this has to be the worst. Dean has two long wounds on his back - like something’s been ripped out. The shirt Dean is wearing is soaked with blood. 

He cuts Dean’s shirt open to expose the rest of the wounds, his whole back has almost been ripped open. He has a sewing kit beside him, but he isn’t sure it’s enough and Dean is still bleeding. How long has Dean had these injuries? And why isn’t he healing himself? 

“Cas?” 

“I’m here.” Cas takes Dean’s hand and squeezes. He gets a weaker squeeze in response. “I think this will be easier if I get you on the bed. Can you stand?”

Dean starts to move and Cas does his best to help keep him steady - it’s difficult and awkward since Cas can’t put his arms around Dean’s back. Dean sits at the end of the bed. Cas stands in front of him and gently tugs Dean’s shirt off. Dean is staring at the floor. Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands and makes Dean look at him. His eyes are rimmed red and tear filled. 

Cas nudges himself between Dean’s legs and carefully wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s face is buried in his chest and his arms settle around his waist. Dean shakes against him, and Cas presses his lips to the top of his head. Cas can see the ugly wounds on Dean’s back. Why? Why Dean? And who in hell would dare touch him? His angel. The one Cas believes to be the best angel there is. Cas makes a silent vow to find who did this and _ rip them apart _.

“You should lie down,” Cas says softly in his hair. “On your stomach.” 

As they pull apart, Cas pretends not to see the tears sliding down Dean’s face.

❦

The process of pushing the needle through skin and pulling the thread through over and over again is something Cas is used to. He’s done it many times - on himself, on his brother, on total strangers. 

So Cas can’t explain the sick feeling he has as he does the exact same to Dean. 

Maybe part of him can explain. The part of him that he refuses to let speak because it could ruin everything between Cas and his best friend. 

That best friend he is kneeling beside on the bed and who is passed out from pain, but is still managing to cling to a pillow. The best friend who pulled him out of Hell and saved him more times than Cas would like to count. The best friend Cas knows he doesn’t deserve. The best friend who could possibly be human, and possibly be dying.

Cas isn’t sure how long he’s been doing this, but his hands ache and are covered in blood by the time he’s done. Dean is still out, his breathing slow and deep. He slips off the bed and goes to the bathroom where he spends the time half an hour scrubbing away the blood. The blood might be gone, but he can still see it.

The next step for Cas is warding. He pulls out a can of red spray paint - an essential for hunting - from his weapons bag. On every wall in the motel room, including the door and windows, he draws sigils. Most of them are angel warding, something he hopes won’t affect Dean in any way since he’s already in the room, and he adds a devil’s trap by the door. 

When Cas steps out of the bathroom, he finds Dean awake, laying there and watching.

“Y’know, you’ve never told me why you always use red paint or black,” Dean says, lightly. “Why don’t you ever use green or pink?”

“Pink?” Cas asks, laughing and he throws the spray can onto his bag then he sits down on the bed. “Did the great angel Dean just suggest I use _ pink _ paint?”

“I’m not an angel anymore.” And that’s all it takes for the mood to change.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks, quietly.

“Either that or my grace is too weak to heal me,” says Dean, bunching the pillow tighter under his head.

“Who did this?” Cas asks in a low voice. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does, Dean,” Cas replies with force. “Who did this?”

Dean glares at him. “And if I tell you what the hell do you think you’re going to do?”

“Find and kill them,” Cas says, glaring back.

Dean sits up and yells, “No. You’ll just end up getting yourself killed!”

“Then what do you expect me to do?” Cas’ voice raising with Dean’s. “Sit here and look at your back, wondering what I could’ve done different? What I could’ve done to save you?”

"_I __don’t know _!” Dean looks at Cas, painfully, and he wonders whether it’s from his back or something else. Dean’s voice softens. “I can’t lose you.”

Cas moves closer, resting a hand on Dean’s chest. “And I can’t lose you.”

Dean laughs a little and Cas realizes how close they both are to tears. Dean’s hand covers his. They’ve been dancing around this for years - around each other, avoiding the one thing that could change their relationship. 

Cas is tired of dancing. 

He leans in and kisses Dean. He feels Dean’s lips move with his and one of Dean’s hands holding the back of his head. It’s fast, sloppy, and over too quickly, but it isn’t long before Dean pulls him in for another one.

Afterwards, they lie down together. Dean is practically on top of Cas with his head tucked under Cas’ chin. Their conversation is far from over. Cas still wants answers. He might not know who did it, but he has a good idea of _ why _.

“They took your wings because of me, didn’t they?” Cas asks. 

Dean props himself up, hissing from the pain. He looks Cas in the eyes before speaking. “Yeah, I choose you over my wings - over Heaven and I don’t regret it. I will _ never _ regret it. They wanted me to kill you, and I couldn’t. They tried for a month - and a month here is years up there - to get me to kill you and I couldn’t. You mean too much to me. I’d rather have you than my wings.”

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve the sacrifice Dean is willing to make, and has already made. Cas’ visions blurs and tears roll down his cheeks. They don’t get far before Dean wipes them away. He leans down to kiss Cas on the cheek, smiling. When Cas regains his composure, he asks, “Are you sure about this, Dean?”

“Yeah, I am,” Dean says. All Cas can do is nod. Nothing he says will change Dean’s mind and Dean probably knows Cas hasn’t changed his mind either. They both too stubborn for that. Dean settles back down on Cas’ chest and a peaceful silence ensues.

For a few brief moments. 

“Are those Twizzlers?” 


End file.
